Goodbye, Sherlock
by TotalFanGirl221B
Summary: It's basically my new and improved version of Alone on the Water :) Sorry for my terrible grammar and stuff, I am pretty bad, but I am working on it! XD Please leave a review once read, I take all criticism :)
1. Chapter 1

Sherlock and John were in Lestrade's office after just solving a case. It had taken Sherlock about 3 days to solve this one, and it was a pretty simple one as well. Well, it would have been simple to Sherlock, not so much to anyone else. Sherlock and John walked into the office; Sherlock was holding a parcel with some tests in it that was the evidence to support his theory. Lestrade let them straight in and Sherlock explained really everything they needed to know. It took Lestrade a few minutes to take everything in that Sherlock had said, and when it all went in he was quite shocked. "And that took you three days to solve?" He asked, looking up at Sherlock confused. Even John was confused about this fact; why did this case take Sherlock so long to figure out?

"Well, you see, I had some other things I had to deal with. I had other things to do." Sherlock replied, placing the parcel down onto Lestrade's desk.

"You haven't been doing anything." John interrupted.

"Of course I have." Sherlock turned to John and gave him a sharp look. He shouldn't have to explain himself to anyone.

"Well, thanks for this." Lestrade said, trying to change the subject. Sherlock turned and nodded. He then started to get a sharp pain through his head. He shut his eyes quickly and tightly and fell forward. He quickly reached out his hand and put it onto the desk to keep him up. He stayed in that position for a few minutes, taking slow breaths in and out. "Sherlock, what's wrong?" Lestrade asked, walking over.

"Sherlock?" John said, leaning over him. Sherlock opened his eyes slowly and picked his head up. He then managed to stand himself up and gathered himself together.

"Nothing… nothing, I'm fine." He shook his head and then left the room quickly, leaving John and Lestrade speechless.

"What was that about?" Lestrade asked John. John had absolutely no idea.

"I don't know."

Sherlock ran outside the building quickly. He held his head up high and sucked in all the air he could before leaning against a wall. He closed his eyes gently. Then slowly slid down the wall and sat down. He brought his knees inwards and buried his head in them. He couldn't concentrate on anything. He got a horrible shooting pain in his head that wouldn't stop. He tried to cope, tried to manage it. He had been like this for months, but these few days had got worse and worse. He knew why, but he didn't want to face the reality.

John and Lestrade came running out looking for him. They found him sitting against the wall. "Sherlock, what's wrong?" John asked, slowly approaching him. Lestrade walked behind him. Sherlock didn't reply. He knew the words, he knew what he wanted to say, but he just couldn't say it. He couldn't speak. His head was driving him crazy. What was he meant to do? He could hardly cope. He tried to control it. He had to control it; he didn't want people to know. He didn't want people to think of him as crazy and a madman that couldn't control his own mind. Maybe some people already did, but not like this. He inhaled deeply. He brought his head from his knees. He turned to face John and Lestrade.

"I'm… I'm fine. Just needed some air." John knew he wasn't 'fine'. Since when would Sherlock just come out for some air? Never. There was something wrong, but John knew he wouldn't get it out of Sherlock. Especially not in a public place. So he just nodded and offered to help Sherlock up. Sherlock refused his help; he insisted he could do it himself so John let him. Lestrade had no idea what just happened. He knew something was wrong with Sherlock, too. But he wasn't going to ask him, Sherlock's not going to confide in him. In fact, Sherlock won't confide with anyone, and if he did, it would be John. John just nodded to Lestrade and he went back inside. John and Sherlock went to get a cab back to the flat.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock and John sat in the taxi in silence. John wanted to ask Sherlock what was wrong and what happened, but he knew he wouldn't get a proper answer. Sherlock was in pain. His head was burning, he couldn't concentrate on anything.

They went into the flat and sat down. Sherlock tried to act as if nothing was wrong; he walked in, set his coat and scarf down onto a chair and read a few notes. John didn't want to say anything, he just acted as if everything was normal too, and maybe it was. Maybe what happened at Lestrade's office was just a one off. John could only hope.

Lestrade called a few hours later, just to make sure that Sherlock was alright. John didn't really know how to respond; Sherlock did seem to be ok, he did seem to be his normal self, but he couldn't really be sure. "Alright, let me know if you need anything." Lestrade said, making sure everything was ok. John nodded and put the phone down. He put it down on the table and then went over to Sherlock who was still looking at some notes.

"So, what are these for?" John asked, peering over Sherlock's shoulder.

"They're... they're for... for..." Sherlock couldn't think. He knew what they were for, he knew exactly, but he couldn't get the right words out. He was trying to say them, but they just wouldn't come from his mouth.

"Sherlock?"

"I'm... I'm fine. They're for the case."

"Which one?"

"Oh, uh, somebody left an envelope this morning. It had some files for a case. I'm just going over the notes to see if it's any interest to me. Did you need something?" Sherlock had managed to get back on track. He tried to act normal.

"Oh, right. No... No I didn't need anything." John sighed and walked over to the chair. He sunk into it and started to read a newspaper.

"Ah ha!" Sherlock shouted while jumping from his chair "I've figured it out!" He grabbed his coat and scarf and ran out of the door. John quickly followed.

"Figured what out?"

"The case!" Sherlock ran outside and quickly got a cab. Both he and John got in it.

In the car, Sherlock started to feel woozy. He kept blinking and couldn't really move. "Sherlock, are you alright?" John asked, watching him. Sherlock tried to reply, he opened his mouth to tell John he was fine, but the words wouldn't come out. He didn't understand. Why was this happening?

"John... John... I can't..." He tried to explain to John what was happening.

"Sherlock?"

"I can't... I don't..." John told the taxi driver to turn back round to the flat. He wasn't going to risk Sherlock fainting or something. Sherlock tried to protest but he was far too ill. John helped Sherlock out of the cab and took him back into the flat.

John took Sherlock to bed where he fell straight asleep. John went back into the living room and sat down, trying to figure out what had just happened. Mrs Hudson came in to see if Sherlock was ok, and soon Lestrade came to see if everything was alright. John explained what had happened, and that they'd have to keep an eye on him because they had no idea what was going on. Then, Lestrade went back to Scotland Yard and Mrs Hudson went back down to her apartment while John went to check on Sherlock. John saw that Sherlock was completely knocked out, so he decided not to wake him. Instead, he decided to wait for him to wake up.


	3. Chapter 3

In the morning, Sherlock woke straight up. He felt and looked a lot better. John was already awake and was sat in the living room watching the news. Sherlock walked in, already fully dressed. "Sherlock, are you feeling alright?" John turned round to face him.

"I'm feeling a lot better. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to tell Mrs Flair that I have solved her case." Sherlock grabbed his coat and scarf and was about to leave.

"Sherlock, why don't you have something to eat first? You've only just recovered. Why don't you have a break?" John stood up.

"I had a break yesterday; I slept all afternoon through until this morning. I think that's enough of a break, don't you?" Sherlock opened the door.

"Would you like me to come with you?"

"If you really think that it's necessary, then fine." Sherlock did want John there, so much, because he didn't know what he'd do if what happened yesterday happened again. John grabbed his coat and they both left to get a taxi.

They arrived at Mrs Flair's house. Sherlock had started to get pains in his head again, but he tried to distract himself. John stood right beside him in case anything strange happened. Mrs Flair answered the door and invited them both in. She showed them to the living room where they sat down and she made them both a cup of tea.

"So, you solved it. Already?" She asked, surprised.

"I actually solved it yesterday afternoon, but I was busy so I couldn't come over."

"Oh, that's alright. At least you're here now." She smiled. John didn't say a word; he just tried to make sure Sherlock was alright.

Sherlock then started to explain the basics of the case, but as he spoke his words became muffled and nobody could understand what he was saying. "Take a deep breath, Sherlock." John said, trying to calm Sherlock down. Unfortunately, it didn't work. Sherlock couldn't speak. He closed his eyes tightly, John knew by this he was in pain. He told Mrs Flair that he would have to email her the details because Sherlock wasn't well. Sherlock tried to tell her, he didn't want to give up. "Sherlock, why don't you go and get some fresh air?" John said. Sherlock knew he didn't have a choice, he had to get outside; clear his head

"Please excuse me." Sherlock said politely to Mrs Flair, she offered him some water, but he refused; he hated water. He walked outside and sat on the curb shaking a little. He was actually quite scared.

John stayed in the house and told Mrs Flair that Sherlock was quite ill at the moment, and that's why he couldn't tell her yesterday about the case. She was very understanding and said Sherlock could take as long as he wanted.

John went out to see where Sherlock was. He was sat on the curb shaking. John rushed over to him and helped him up. He shouted a cab and then helped Sherlock sit down. Sherlock didn't say a word. He just sat there, shaking.


	4. Chapter 4

As you can probably guess, the taxi drive home was in silence. Neither John nor Sherlock made the slightest noise. Sherlock trying to figure out what was going to happen next, and John was just looking out the window trying to figure out what was wrong with Sherlock and how he could help him.

When they went inside their flat, Sherlock slowly walked in, took his coat and scarf off, rested them on the back of a chair and then slumped himself down onto the sofa. John just watched for a minute. Why would Sherlock just lie down? Something was definitely wrong, but he didn't know how he was going to get Sherlock to confess and tell him what was wrong.

Sherlock lay on the sofa for hours. Not moving or speaking. He had his eyes shut, but he wasn't asleep. John went to look in the fridge for something to eat, but as usual there was nothing there. "Sherlock, why is there no food again? Don't you think it's about time you went shopping?" John sighed. Sherlock didn't answer; he didn't even nod his head to acknowledge John. "Sherlock are you even listening to me?" Sherlock didn't move. John just sighed and put his coat on. "Fine, I'll go. You just lie there, make yourself comfortable." John said sarcastically as he walked out of the flat shutting the door behind him.

While John was gone, Sherlock lay on the sofa thinking. Thinking about his illness. He knew he was a walking time bomb, but he wanted to know how long. Sherlock had had enough. He stood up and started walking around the flat frantically. He wanted to speak to someone, but nobody was there. So he decided to get some fresh air. He opened the door. He started to feel dizzy and he couldn't see properly. He reached out his hands to try and grab hold of the banister for the stairs, but he missed and went tumbling down them. He tried to grab a hold of something, but he couldn't. He hit his head and was left unconscious at the bottom of the stairs.

Mrs Hudson had heard the huge bang, so she quickly ran to see what all the commotion was. She saw Sherlock wrapped up in a ball at the bottom of the stairs. He had small cuts and bruises all over his face, and blood was coming from the back of his head. Not a lot of blood. She gasped in horror and then ran into her kitchen. She quickly grabbed her phone and dialled John's number. "John, come home quick."

"Mrs Hudson? What's happened?" John asked, he knew it involved Sherlock.

"It's Sherlock; he's fallen down the stairs."

"I'm on my way." John left his shopping in the trolley and quickly ran out of the supermarket. He then got a taxi back to 221B.

By the time John got there, there was an ambulance waiting outside. John quickly ran inside to see Sherlock in a small puddle of blood. He sighed a little with relief that it wasn't so much blood, but he was still worried about how this happened and if it was life threatening. The doctors lay Sherlock on a trolley bed and wheeled him into the back of the ambulance. They'd given him an oxygen mask. John accompanied Sherlock in the ambulance to the hospital.


	5. Chapter 5

Soon, Sherlock was awake. He was dosed up on morphine, but was able to move a little and speak. John came into his room and sat down on a chair next to Sherlock's bed. Sherlock turned his head slightly to face John. He looked terrible; he was pale, there were bags under his eyes, he had cuts all over his face and his eyes were only half open. "How are you?" John asked, comfortingly. Sherlock nodded. "Can I just ask-?"

"No" Sherlock said. He spoke slowly and his speech was very slurred.

"Sherlock, how did it happen?" Sherlock sighed and turned his head to face the ceiling. He didn't want to tell John. He didn't want to tell John about the voices. He didn't want John to think he was mad. Maybe John thought that already, but this would make things worse. John looked down to the floor. He needed to know what had happened. "Sherlock, please-"

"John, I... I don't have to... to tell you about... about what happened."

"But Sherlock-"

"I said I won't tell you!" Sherlock shouted. John knew it wasn't his fault, and he didn't want to get angry with him. He just wanted to know what had happened. Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut. He was in so much pain. He screamed. John quickly stood up and went to help him. Sherlock pushed him away because he was angry at him for trying to get him to tell him what happened. A nurse came quickly and helped Sherlock, she gave him some more painkillers, and eventually he was fine. Well, he wasn't fine, but he was as fine as he was going to get. The nurse left and it was once again silent.

"Sherlock..." John sighed "Sherlock, please just tell me what happened. I want to be able to help you. These past few days have all been the same. What is it?" Sherlock turned to John. He knew he had to tell him. He didn't want to be in pain any more, he needed to tell somebody.

"There's..." Sherlock gulped and found it hard to speak, but he carried on "there's something in my head. It's painful and horrible. It hurts all the time." Sherlock was getting aggravated even talking about it.

"What's the pain like?"

"A shooting pain. It's always there, driving me crazy. I can't concentrate on anything." John didn't know what to suggest. He didn't know or fully understand what was going on inside Sherlock's chaotic mind.

"Get some rest. You've just been in a serious accident, get some sleep, clear your head, and maybe you'll be able to tell me more about it when you're better." John said comfortingly. Sherlock slowly closed his eyes. He gradually went to sleep. John sat there, trying to think of ways he could help Sherlock, but he honestly had no idea what was wrong with Sherlock.


	6. Chapter 6

Morning had come and John was still sat beside Sherlock's bed. John had had no sleep; he was still trying to process everything Sherlock had told him and everything that had happened. Sherlock woke up at 9:30 but he didn't move at all. He just stared at the ceiling, thinking. He had managed to keep the voices quiet so that he could try and concentrate on others things. John didn't say anything to him. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to help him, he didn't have any advice to give, and he didn't understand what was going on in Sherlock's mad brain.

"Sherlock is it ok if I just go to get a drink, I'll be back in a few minutes?" John asked, getting out of his seat. Sherlock just nodded and pretended not to care. But he did. He didn't want to be alone right now. He couldn't be alone. His head was killing him, and he could feel himself getting weaker and weaker by the second. Alone was the one thing that always protected him, but not this time. This time he needed somebody there, to help him get through the pain, through the last days or weeks or months or years of his life. John smiled at him and left.

Eventually, the doctor came over. "Hello... Sherlock" he said, picking up Sherlock's notes "Right, it seems you are improving, but we're going to keep you in another night and hopefully you'll be discharged by tomorrow. Are you aware of how you fell?"

"Perfectly." Sherlock replied, not bothering to even glance at the doctor.

"Sherlock, your brain tumour has grown a considerable amount. About 20%." The doctor sympathised and tried to help Sherlock, but Sherlock didn't want his help; there was nothing anybody could do. He was eventually going to die.

"Yes, I know."

"You're going to die, and probably soon. Do you need help? Or advice or support?"

"No, I'm perfectly fine, thank you." The doctor didn't know how to reply, he wanted to help Sherlock but he knew that Sherlock wasn't going to cooperate.

"Well, if you do, there are a lot of people who will help you. But for now, here's some medication for the pain." He says, grabbing a box of tablets and placing them down on the small tray attached to Sherlock's bed. Just at that point, John had come back with two coffees in his hand.

"Oh, hello." John looked at the doctor, the doctor just smiled at him and turned back to face Sherlock.

"Sherlock, you have to take these, they are important. They will seriously help with the pain and it will prevent any more of these accidents happening." He knew Sherlock was a broken cause, so he walked off. John sat back down oblivious to what the doctor was talking about.

John put one of the coffees on Sherlock's tray. Sherlock brought his head up and looked at it. "Thank you, but I'd rather not."

"Sherlock, you need to at least drink!" John tried to get him to drink it, but Sherlock refused. "What was all that about?" Sherlock looked at him puzzled. "You know the pills and what the doctor was talking to you about." Sherlock sighed.

"I hardly think that's any of your business."

"Sherlock, I'm your friend! I'm here to help you! Please, just let me understand what's going on, because right now I honestly don't have a clue what everything is about. I don't understand why you had to 'just get air' when we were in Lestrade's office. I don't understand why you had some sort of fit in the taxi or Mrs Flair's house. And I certainly don't understand how you fell down the stairs. Please, tell me." John looked at Sherlock, his eyes showed he wasn't mad at Sherlock, he genuinely wanted to help. Sherlock knew this was a man he could trust. And he had to tell somebody. He sighed and looked up at the ceiling. He didn't want to face John as he was saying it.

"I have a brain tumour." Sherlock said slowly and in despair.

"I'm sorry, you have a what?!" John was confused. How could Sherlock have a tumour? You hear about others having them, but you don't expect it to happen to somebody you know and care for.

"I said I have a brain tumour. And about a month ago it started growing. 20%. You should know what that means, you are a doctor." John's face was getting angrier and angrier, he couldn't believe Sherlock. He couldn't believe any of it.

"Why didn't you tell me before?!" John was finding it hard to cope, he wasn't mad at Sherlock but he had to take his anger out on somebody and unfortunately, it was Sherlock.

"I didn't know how to-"

"You didn't know how?! You didn't fucking know how?! Well how did you manage it just now?!" John had started to shout. He jumped from his chair.

"John please-"

"What do you want me to say? Thanks for telling me now? Now?! You could die in a few days; in fact, you could die in a few hours!"

"Yes John, I know!" Sherlock shouted at John. He was angry that John was blaming him for the tumour, like it was his fault. He didn't want this, he didn't _ask _for this. John huffed and shook his head. He then stormed out. Sherlock sighed. He felt as though it was his fault. A tear rolled down his cheek. He didn't want to be alone. He wanted somebody there.


	7. Chapter 7

Hours had gone by and John still hadn't returned. Sherlock was beginning to think he wasn't going to come back. He lay, alone in the bed. He picked up the coffee that John had left him and took a sip. It was quite cold, but Sherlock didn't care. He just wanted a drink; his throat had gotten so dry. He started to get in more and more pain. He tried to control it at first, but it was too much. He threw his drink on the floor and coffee had spilt everywhere. He clenched his eyes shut and screamed. A nurse and the doctor came over. They gave him some more painkillers and after half an hour he eventually calmed down and was alright. "Where's that guy that came in with you, is he still here?" Sherlock just shook his head. "Do you want us to call anyone to stay with you for the night?" Sherlock shook his head once again. He had no friends, nobody that cared for him. He didn't believe that even Mycroft would bother to come in and see him. The doctor was about to walk off when Sherlock asked him a question.

"Am... am I still leaving tomorrow?"

"Probably, unless you'd rather spend your last days in a hospital bed?" Sherlock considered it, but then shook his head. The doctor smiled and walked off. Sherlock laid his head back onto the pillow and sighed.

"Sherlock? Are you alright?" A voice called from the side of Sherlock's bed, a very familiar voice. Sherlock opened his eyes and picked up his head to see John with Molly and Lestrade. Sherlock shot John a sharp look and threw his head back down onto the pillow. John didn't understand, he thought Sherlock would be happy that he brought his friends. John told Molly and Lestrade to go and get refreshments while he spoke to Sherlock. "What's wrong?"

"John, why did you invite them? I didn't want anybody to know until the end."

"Relax, I haven't told them about the tumour, why would I? I'm not an idiot."

"Well-"

"Anyway, they heard about your fall and came to see if you were alright."

"Well you can tell them that I'm feeling absolutely fantastic and that I'm going home tomorrow so they can speak to me then, but for now they can leave."

"No."

"What?"

"I said no. I'm not going to tell them to leave just because you're embarrassed to admit that you can't cope and that you're ill."

"Fine." Sherlock knew John's game. He wasn't going to give up so easily. He thought he could control the pain while Molly and Lestrade were here. So he would try.


	8. Chapter 8

Molly and Lestrade came back and John got seats for them. "So, what happened?" Lestrade asked, quite astonished that even the greatest of men could fall down the stairs. He was trying very hard not to see the funny side of this.

"Didn't anybody tell you? I fell down the stairs." Sherlock said sarcastically. He knew Lestrade was finding this funny. John was quite angry at Lestrade because he knew the reason why Sherlock fell, and the fact that Lestrade was finding Sherlock falling down the stairs funny annoyed him greatly.

"Yeah, it was pretty serious; he bashed his head on the banister." John said at Lestrade angrily. He shot Lestrade a look, and Lestrade realised it was more than just a fall.

"So how did you fall?" Molly asked, she sort of whispered.

"I tripped over the carpet. Mrs Hudson needs to get it fixed." Sherlock had quickly come up with an excuse which couldn't be proven as the carpet is in need of repairing. They all sat in silence for a couple of minutes, no one knowing what to say.

The doctor came over once again. This was just to check that Sherlock was alright and was feeling better after what had recently happened. "So, Sherlock. Are the painkillers helping? Did you get some rest after that attack?" Sherlock quickly shot the doctor a look. John didn't know about the attack, and Molly and Lestrade didn't know about the tumour. The doctor looked round at everybody "I thought you said there was nobody you wanted me to call?"

"Oh, these are just some friends. They were just about to leave."

"What? No, we're going to stay." Lestrade interrupted. Sherlock didn't bother to acknowledge him.

"Wait, what happened earlier?" John got confused; he knew something must have happened while he was gone.

"Sherlock-" The doctor was just about to explain to John what had happened but Sherlock quickly interrupted.

"Nothing happened. I started to get in some pain and I just needed a bit of help. That's all." John knew that wasn't it, but he wasn't going to argue. The doctor just nodded and carried on.

"If you get in any more pain then take one of the pills I gave you, it will honestly help." The doctor then walked away to leave them all once again.


	9. Chapter 9

Lestrade and Molly eventually left John and Sherlock alone. It was now 21:00 and Sherlock was in so much pain, and he was so tired, but he couldn't sleep. John didn't know how to help. "Just... just pass me... pass me the pills..." John rummaged round looking for the pills. "You... you put them on the chair..." Sherlock was trying to stop himself screaming, it was hard, but he managed.

"Wait, this was where Lestrade was sat, he must have knocked them over or something." John said, going frantic looking for the box of medication. Sherlock was getting incredibly impatient; he was in too much pain to wait.

"John... John please! Hurry... hurry please..." Sherlock was starting to get drowsy. John was trying to find the pills, but they were nowhere to be seen. "John... John please..." Sherlock slowly passed out. John quickly turned round and shouted the doctor.

"Help! Somebody!" The doctor ran over with two nurses.

"What happened? Did he take the medication?"

"No, we couldn't find them, they've gone missing." The doctor nods and helps Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't wake up until 12:30 the next day. John had been worried about him all night. He had stayed awake just to see Sherlock wake up. Just to make sure he was alright. Sherlock was slightly dazed, but he was feeling a bit better. John had looked for the pills and eventually found them. "Sherlock, are you feeling alright?" Sherlock heard John, but didn't answer him. He felt as though this was all a dream. He couldn't speak and just looked around at everything. "I found the pills." John said, waving the box in his hand trying to get Sherlock's attention. It didn't work. "They were under the chair. Didn't really think to look there." John tried to make small talk, but it wasn't working. Sherlock really wasn't interested. He couldn't concentrate on the real world right now. He was just imagining strange things inside his head.

"What if today was my last day, John?" He said, slowly but casually.

"What? Sherlock, don't say things like that."

"But it's true, John. Today could be my last. Any day could. One day I'll be in so much pain it'll just take over me. I won't be able to function and all I'll be able to feel is the pain, nothing else. And then, I'll slowly stop breathing. That'll be the end." John tried to ignore him; he couldn't cope with the idea of Sherlock being dead. Not yet, anyway.

"No. Today won't be your last day; I'll make sure you're ready before it happens. Just please, don't believe today is the last." Sherlock sighed, he wanted John to come to terms with it, and he wanted John to know that it eventually would happen. But, he wasn't going to argue with him, so he left it.


	10. Chapter 10

Sherlock had been taken home at last. John had to help him walk up the stairs, but he tried to do things independently. He walked into the flat and straight away sat himself down onto the chair. John sat on the chair opposite. "So, Sherlock, do you want to talk about anything?" Sherlock looked at him.

"Like what?"

"Like what kind of things you would like to do before... you know..."

"Before I die? It's alright, you can say it. And no. There isn't what's the point?"

"The point is that you're going to die and what if you want to do something before you die, but you don't, you'll regret it forever."

"No I won't; I will be dead. John, all I want to be able to do is my work."

"Alright, I'm just trying to help." John knew he wasn't really helping. He knew Sherlock wasn't very emotional, not even hearing about his own death. John was the emotional one. That's why they both balanced each other out.

"You're trying to what? _Help?_ How could you be helping me?" Sherlock was getting angry. John thought he had done something wrong, but Sherlock was just angry with the fact that he had to die. Why did he have to? Why him?

"Listen, Sherlock, I'm worried. I don't want to watch you slowly turn into a zombie. In fact, a zombie could probably do more than what you'll be able to do." John wasn't thinking when he said it, it just came out. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Oh, I know exactly what you meant!" Sherlock said, looking down at the floor, trying to ignore John. "Look, John, I don't know why you're so annoyed or emotional. This isn't _our _problem. This isn't _your _problem. This is _my _problem. So if anyone is going to get emotional about it, it's going to be me!" Sherlock shouted at John. He didn't want to upset John; he was trying to make himself like some horrible person so that John wouldn't be so upset when Sherlock passed.

"Right, well if it's your problem then you can deal with it yourself. I don't need to take this." John shouted as he stormed out of the flat and out of the house. Sherlock was left, once again, alone.


	11. Chapter 11

Suddenly, the phone rang. It was Lestrade. Sherlock picked up. "Sherlock, are you at home?"

"Yes, I was discharged today."

"Well, I know you've only just got home, but I have a new case and I need your help. Would you come?" Lestrade said, he was desperate, but he understood if Sherlock couldn't come.

"Of course, there's nothing I'd rather do." Sherlock hung up the phone and grabbed his coat and scarf. He then ran down the stairs and got a cab.

In the taxi he started to get a blinding headache, but he concentrated more on the case to distract himself from the pain. He had finally reached the crime scene and went to help Lestrade out.

Meanwhile, John had finally decided to go back to the flat. But, when he got back, Sherlock wasn't there. John didn't know where he was, he wasn't answering his phone, and there was no sign to where he was. He shouted to Mrs Hudson, but she didn't know anything. John then scanned every newspaper we had to see if there had been anything about a murder. Nothing. There was nothing there. Suddenly, my phone began to ring. John sighed with relief when I saw it was Lestrade calling. "Lestrade, hi, is Sherlock with you?"

"Yes, he is. John, I think you should come down, he doesn't seem to be, you know; himself."

"Right, where are you?"

John quickly ran downstairs and shouted a cab. He sat in the back worried sick. He didn't know what had happened. He felt quite guilty for leaving him. He finally got to the crime scene. He ran to see where Sherlock and Lestrade were. He walked into the building and found them both stood there, Sherlock seemed fine to me. While Sherlock was looking around, Lestrade pulled John aside. "Why did you call me, he looks fine?"

"He's been a bit strange; he's been slower than he usually is, hardly making any sense, and falling over sometimes. He acts as if it was just a natural thing, but he keeps doing it."

"Ah, right. I should take him back to the flat," John whispers "I found out Sherlock has a brain tumour and it's grown. Any day could be his last. But he doesn't want anyone to know about it, so please, don't say anything." John had decided to tell Lestrade because he had to tell somebody, and he felt that Lestrade deserved to know and would understand. Lestrade looked at John, shocked. He looked exactly like him when he had found out.

"What?! A tumour?"

"Keep your voice down, we can't let anyone else know until it's been confirmed."

"Right. Well, take him back to the flat and when he's ready, he can give me every detail he has." John smiled at him, and then looked over to Sherlock. He then walked over to him and started whispering to him.

"Sherlock, I think we should go back to the flat. You need to rest."

"What? I'm in the middle of a case John."

"Lestrade's told me you've been acting strange. Falling over. Hardly speaking. Let's just go back to the flat, you'll have some rest and you can come back when you're ready."

"But… but…" His speech is worse, he starts to fall, and John grabs hold of him before he reaches the floor. He then tries to take him to the flat, but Sherlock forces him off him. "Get off. I'm not leaving until the case is finished." He insisted. John sighed. Then he left Sherlock to investigate. "What's that?" Sherlock asked Lestrade, pointing to a slightly open floorboard.

"I don't know." Replied Lestrade. All of them walked over to it, Lestrade bent down, removed the piece of wood from the floor and shoved his hand through the gap. He then pulled out several photographs. "What are these for?" Lestrade and John looked at Sherlock, incredibly confused. Sherlock just smiled. He then explained to us what they had to do with anything.

"They're photos of your murderer."

"What? That guy's the murderer?" Lestrade said, pointing at the male.

"I never said it was him…"

"It's the woman?" Lestrade said, shocked.

"The male in it was the victim's best friend in university. This girl was dating both the victim and this guy. The victim had heard rumours about them both, so he stuck a camera in their room. He got the pictures back and started giving them to people. This girl wanted revenge, she asked him for the pictures back, he said no so she killed him."

"How do you know it was her and not him?"

"It's obvious isn't it?" Lestrade and John looked at each other a little confused.

"Look at the body; I found a little bit of lipstick on his lips. Now I don't think this is the kind of guy to wear make up, and neither is the guy in the photo. So it has to be the woman."

"Amazing." John says, with a smile on his face. He was so happy because it felt as though nothing had happened, everything was just normal, Sherlock had never been ill or gone to hospital, or told his tumour was growing, in fact, was told that he _had _a tumour. For a second everything felt like it should.

They got a cab home. "So, that was good how you worked all that out." John said to Sherlock smiling. He was just looking out of the window paying hardly any attention.

"Yes, well it was quite simple." He said, slowly. He then leaned right against the window and squeezed his eyes shut. I could see he was in pain. I was quite worried, and I thought that after he solved this case, like he's gone back to normal, then he wouldn't be like this.

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah." His voice was broken, he is in so much pain "just another headache, I just need to take some of my pain killers, and I'll be fine." The rest of the drive was in silence. Sherlock sat there; in pain, while John sat there; trying to ignore it. Because he knew he wouldn't want him to be worrying, he wants it all to be normal. He doesn't care for emotion.

We finally reached the flat. John tried to help Sherlock out of the cab, but he wouldn't let him. He just wanted to be able to do things for himself, which was admirable.

We got into the flat, and Sherlock picked up some notes on his table and then headed back towards the door. "Sherlock, where are you going?"

"Mrs Flair's house, I still need to tell her what happened."

"I already emailed her, when you were in the hospital and I left after you told me about the tumour, I quickly sent her a message."

"Oh, alright, thank you." Sherlock looked relieved, it seemed as though he didn't want to have to go out again, because he was in so much pain, he just wanted to sleep. He set the notes back onto the desk and took off his coat and scarf. He then sat down and closed his eyes.

"Oh, Lestrade's calling me." John said picking up his phone. Sherlock opened his eyes. "Hello?" John said.

"John, I've been trying to call."

"Yeah?"

"We were looking for the murderer, and we found out she died." John looked over at Sherlock.

"What?"

"Yeah, a few hours after the original victim. This means that someone found out she murdered him and killed her."

"Right, I'll tell Sherlock" John hung up the phone and scratched his head. Sherlock looked at him. "That girl, the murderer, she was murdered a few hours after the other guy." Sherlock looked at John. He didn't say anything. It looked as if he was confused by it, and didn't really understand it. He walked over to his desk and put both of his hands under his chin and closed his eyes. He was thinking. He sat there, all night, trying to figure it all out.

Morning had come. Sherlock was still sat at the desk, still in the same position as he was last night. He knew that there had to be some sort of sign or clue to why someone had murdered the murderer. John took Sherlock's pills to him with a glass of water. He doesn't take them straight away; he waits until John sits down and then takes them. John made him some breakfast, but he just pushed the plate away as he was trying to figure out the murder. "So, are have you figured anything out yet?" John asks, while eating his breakfast. He doesn't answer straight away, but that's normal for him.

"No." Sherlock says, John could sense from his tone it was annoying him.

"Right..." John replies. He looks over at him, and sighs.

"John, I'm alright." He sighs and turns around to face John "The tumour won't change the way I think. I'm going to die anyway, I had hoped for something a tad more dramatic, but it's a tumour, and there's not much I can do." He then turned back to his original state. John sat there, staring at him. He admired his bravery so much. He decided that if Sherlock can be ok about this, then he would have to be.


	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock had started to get aggravated and decided to go outside. John insisted on going with him, but Sherlock refused. John had decided to follow Sherlock secretly if he wasn't going to let him come along. He wanted to make Sherlock was safe. Sherlock went to the park and rested on the bench. He took in all the air he could. He looked into the sky and closed his eyes. For a minute, he was at peace with everything. But he knew that was all going to end quite soon. The thought of death scared him quite a bit. He didn't believe that anything happened to you when you died, that you just rot in the ground, and that's what scared him the most. He quickly opened his eyes. He didn't want to think about it at all. He then looked around, and then spotted John. "John, you do know I can see you." He shouted over to him. John was trying to hide behind a small bush. Hew sighed and then came from his hiding place and walked over to Sherlock. "It's fine, sit down." Sherlock patted the spot next to him and then moved his hand as John sat down.

"This is nice. Cool, calm and relaxing."

"Yes..." Sherlock said softly, and then bowed his head in despair.

"Sherlock-"

"Please, John, don't. Don't tell me everything will be good, because I know it's not the truth. I'm getting sicker and sicker and so far nothing is getting better. Please, just let's sit here in peace for a few minutes." John smiled and nodded. He finally found the human inside of Sherlock. He knew it was there, but now it had finally showed itself, and to him.

They sat there for half an hour, and then Sherlock felt incredibly sick, so they went back to the flat. When they got back Sherlock was sick straight away. John felt so sorry for him, but he stayed strong. He got one of his pills ready for him to take when he had finished throwing up what he had eaten for the past week.

Sherlock walked into the living room and picked up his pill. He looked at it for a second, wondering what had happened to his life, and then threw it into his mouth and then drank a small amount of water. He then slowly walked into his bedroom and threw himself into the bed. He fell straight asleep.


	13. Chapter 13

In the morning Sherlock got dressed and walked into the living room, where John was sat reading the newspaper. Sherlock sat down in the arm chair opposite. John peered up from his newspaper and looked at Sherlock. Sherlock looked terrible. He did look a lot like a zombie. His eyes were half shut, he was pale and extremely flushed, and he could hardly move any part of his body. "Maybe you need some more rest?" John suggested, looking quite concerned.

"No, I'm fine. I've... I've had too... too much rest already." Sherlock yawned. John wasn't going to argue with him. John went to make some breakfast while getting Sherlock's medication. Sherlock just threw his pill in and swallowed. He leaned his head back against the sofa cushion and sighed. John brought his breakfast in, but he wouldn't eat.

"Sherlock, please, eat something." But Sherlock refused. He was too tired to eat. Too weak.

Sherlock sat in the arm chair for a while, and then decided to sit at his desk. He looked at his notes and started to feel delirious. He wiped his face with his hand and tried to keep himself awake, but he was too tired and ill. He put his hands under his chin, but his head was becoming too heavy and they slowly slid along the table as he laid his head on the desk and closed his eyes. John was too busy reading the newspaper to notice yet. Sherlock tried to keep himself awake, he kept opening his eyes slightly, but his brain was resisting. Sherlock was getting aggravated. He was so tired but he wanted to solve the case. He then fell off his chair trying to lift his head off the desk. He put his hands by his side and tried to lift himself off the floor, but he couldn't, he gave up. John quickly ran over to him and checked if he was alright. He lifted him up and took him back to bed. Sherlock wanted to protest, but he was too tired and couldn't concentrate on anything.

Sherlock stayed asleep all day and then woke up the next looking slightly better. Not fully better, but considering what he looked like yesterday, anything was an improvement. He took his medication and then went straight to work. "Lestrade called me," Sherlock looked at John. "He asked if you had anything on the case yet. I told him you were busy, but when you got the time you would get round to it." Sherlock turned back to the notes.

"Thanks." He said, and then looked deeply at his notes. John knew there was no point in trying to talk to him because he wasn't going to listen now.

Sherlock jumped up from his chair. "I've got it!" He shouted. He grabbed his coat and scarf, put them on and ran out of the flat. John followed him, knowing he had finally figured out the case. John rang Lestrade quickly and told him that they would meet him at Scotland Yard. John and Sherlock got a cab and off they went, to solve another case, like the tumour had never happened. John felt quite happy because it seemed as though nothing had changed, but at the same time he felt so sad because he knew that it would soon end. Soon it would just be him, all alone. Sherlock wouldn't be here. John didn't understand; it didn't seem fair; this man who has helped prevent murders and crimes had a tumour and was going to die in less than 2 months. How is it fair?


	14. Chapter 14

John and Sherlock got to Scotland Yard and Sherlock quickly got out of the cab and rushed in. John was left to pay the driver and then he quickly followed Sherlock into the building. He walked in and walked into Lestrade's office. "Right, what have you got?" Asked Lestrade. He acted perfectly normal, like John had asked him.

"Well… well…" Sherlock paused for a minute. He couldn't talk properly. He tried to get the right words out, but it wouldn't work. Lestrade and John looked at each other, they stood there and let him try and get back on track.

"Sherlock?" John looked at him, and he looked back "Just stop, and think." Sherlock stood there for about 2 minutes and took a deep breath. He then slowly exhaled and started to talk normally again.

"Does the victim have any relatives?" He said, slowly. Both Lestrade and John sighed in relief and continued to listen to Sherlock.

"No, well, not that we know of anyway."

"What? She must have. She has to have!" Sherlock looked at Lestrade, puzzled. He'd got it wrong.

"She definitely has no relatives, Sherlock."

"No. Because that was the last one." Sherlock muttered to himself and then sighed; he inhaled slowly and then exhaled. "Never mind." Sherlock said, walking out. John looked at Lestrade.

"He should just rest for a bit, he'll be alright once he rests." John nodded at him and then followed Sherlock. As we walked out, Sherlock collapsed. John ran to get Lestrade and they both held him up. Lestrade and John took him to Lestrade's car and he gave them a lift back to the flat. They grabbed Sherlock and took him up the stairs. They then both put him in the bed and waited in the living room. Lestrade tried to comfort John as he was in shock and was scared. Lestrade then left, just before Sherlock woke up. "John?" John heard Sherlock shouting from the bedroom. He went to check on him.

"What's wrong?"

"Headache…" He said, still half asleep. John went to get his pills and gave them to him. Then he fell back asleep, so John left the room. He didn't sleep last night; he stayed in the living room in case something bad was to happen to Sherlock. Sherlock got up in the morning and threw up straight away. He then went into the living room. "Are you alright?"

"Fine."

"Sherlock-"

"What do you want me to say John? Do you want me to tell you that I'm feeling terrible?! That I can hardly walk, I have a huge headache and that I can't take being sick again?! Because that's how I feel, John, ok? Are you happy now? You got what you wanted!" Sherlock shouted as he sat down. He then buried his head in his hands and sighed. John didn't reply. He just sat there, watching him suffer. He normally saw him as this heroic, brave man, and he didn't think he felt emotion or pain like normal human beings. But now, now he could see, like he did at the park, that Sherlock was scared. He's in pain, and he just wants everything to be normal. "Do you want me to go over those notes with you?" John said. He gathered up the courage to become a strong man who wasn't going to watch his friend suffer.

"What?"

"Well, you might have missed something before. Why don't we go over them together?" Sherlock takes his face from his hands and faces John. He smiles.

"Alright, how about you look at this lot" he says, pointing at a bunch of receipts and tickets from the victim "and I'll look at this." John nods, and they both get to work. Half an hour later they still have nothing. Sherlock is getting a little frustrated, but John tries to calm him down. "Hey, wait. What's this?" John says, holding up a strip of paper hidden between two tickets. He hand it to Sherlock and he takes a look. "It says 'I know you've got the pictures. 34 Howarth Street. Midnight tonight' the night she died!"

"Yeah, but that message could be from anyone!"

"But only someone who knew about the pictures."

"But, the only person who knew is dead."

"No." Sherlock and John ran out of the house and got a cab. John called Lestrade. Half way there though, Sherlock began to get the headaches again. "Sherlock? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm… I'm fine." He spoke quietly and slowly. He leaned against the window. John didn't say anything else because he wanted to help him solve this case.

They'd finally got to the crime scene. Lestrade was waiting for us with the photos. "So, what have we got?"

"Well, this other guy, in the photo, he must know about the pictures too."

"Right?"

"He thought she had taken them. When he heard his friend had been murdered, he knew that it must have been her, and she must have the pictures with her. So when he turned up and asked for the pictures and she claimed she didn't have them then he killed her. Simple."

"Great." Lestrade said. Both Lestrade and John looked at each other with a smile on their faces. Sherlock and John then went home. As they walked up the stairs Sherlock felt incredibly dizzy, so John helped him up, Sherlock didn't bother to resist because he did need help.

As soon as they got in Sherlock started throwing up. He took some of his pills and then sat down. John looked at him, he was so happy that Sherlock had solved the case. He wanted to solve it so much, and it just showed that he was trying to keep things as normal as they could be. He went to bed to get some rest, and John went up to his room.


	15. Chapter 15

In the morning, John went down to Sherlock's flat. He wasn't in the living room, though. John checked if he was still in his room, but he wasn't there either. He looked around his room, and on his bed John saw a little piece of paper with his name written on it. It said 'John, meet me at Bart's Hospital as soon as you read this, come to the roof.' John didn't know what to think; he quickly ran outside and grabbed a cab. His heart was racing in the back of the cab, and then he finally got to Bart's. He ran inside and up to the roof. Sherlock was stood there, not near the edge, just stood looking over the other side. "Sherlock? What are you doing here?" He turned to face John. He took a step toward him and then stopped. Sherlock stared at him. He then put his hand in his pocket and brought out a gun. "Sherlock? What are you doing? Sherlock?!" He pointed the gun at his head. "Sherlock, don't be stupid!"

"John, I-"

"Why are you doing this?!" John walked over to him, but Sherlock ordered him to stop. John slowly stopped and stood still. "Sherlock… please…" John said, starting to cry.

"I have to do this, John."

"Why? Why do you have to?! You were fine yesterday! You solved the case!"

"That's why."

"I am seriously not following, Sherlock."

"It took me longer than it should have. I don't want to stay alive just so I get stuck on such simple cases."

"But-"

"But nothing. One day I'll wake up and I won't be able to solve anything. I'll be in too much pain, I won't be able to speak, I won't be able to walk, and I just don't want that."

"But why today? Why not later? Why now?!"

"Because I solved the case. I want to end my life, knowing that I was still able to do what I am good at. I don't want to end it later because I can't do what I love."

"Why not just try another case? Please? It... It could go well."

"But what if it doesn't? What then? Then I will die a failure. Maybe you won't see it that way, but I will and I don't want to die like that, I want to die knowing I was able to solve at least one case before I died. Please, let me do this John."

"But you've solved other cases."

"But I want to be able to solve one before I die. I don't want to be a zombie. I want to be able to do things; I don't want people to know me as the man who died because of a tumour. I want people to remember me the way I was. Not the days before I die if I waited for the tumour to take me."

"Please, Sherlock."

"John, if you cared then you would let me end it. I want to end it on my own terms, please. Let me do this, let me finish this."

"Sherlock." John was in tears, but he knew Sherlock was right. He knew this was the right thing to do. John paused. "Are you... are you sure about this?"

"I've never been so sure about anything, I have to do this."

"Then… do it…" John said, tears streaming down his face,

"Thank you, John. For everything. _I_was so alone, and _I_owe _you_so much."

"Goodbye, Sherlock." John stood there, and watched him. Watched him shoot himself. Watched his body collapse to the floor. John cried out and ran to his bleeding body. He couldn't believe he did it. He couldn't believe he let Sherlock do it. He sat there, crying. He didn't know what to do. He tried to pull himself together, but it didn't work. He managed to pull his phone out from his pocket and called Lestrade. He told him what had happened and he came straight away. He took John downstairs, where Molly comforted him, and then some doctors and nurses took Sherlock's body away. Lestrade assured John he would make sure he wouldn't get arrested or anything, but he wasn't at all worried about that. He missed Sherlock. He needed him. He couldn't believe he let him do it.

John went back to the flat and sat in silence. He remembered when he sat like this the first time; when Sherlock had jumped off a building and died. Well, that's what he thought at the time. But, this time was different. Because Sherlock hadn't faked his death. John was right in front of him this time. He knew it was for real. Now he was definitely alone.

The day of Sherlock's funeral. John cried so much. He could hardly finish his speech, he started crying towards the end, Lestrade helped him through it. Mycroft attended, but not so much as a tear fell from his face. Mrs Hudson came, as did Lestrade, Molly and John. That was all. The only people who cared about Sherlock Holmes.


End file.
